snarling and growling, and fastening and withdrawing his claws, much as a cat does with a rat or mouse.  Some writers say he then proceeds to drink the blood, but this is just one of those broad general assertions which require proof.  In some cases he may quench his thirst and gratify his appetite for blood by drinking it from the gushing veins of his quivering victim, but in many cases I know from observation, that the blood is not drunk.  If the tiger is very hungry he then begins his feast, tearing huge fragments of flesh from the dead body, and not unusually swallowing them whole.  If he is not particularly hungry, he drags the carcase away, and hides it in some well-known spot.  This is to preserve it from the hungry talons and teeth of vultures and jackals.  He commonly remains on guard near his cache until he has acquired an appetite.  If he cannot conveniently carry away his quarry, because of its bulk, or the nature of the ground, or from being disturbed, he returns to the place at night and satisfies his appetite.

Tigers can sneak crouchingly along as fast as they can trot, and it is wonderful how silently they can steal on their prey.  They seem to have some stray provident fits, and on occasions make provision for future wants.  There are instances on record of a tiger dragging a kill after him for miles, over water, and through slush and weeds, and feasting on the carcase days after he has killed it.  It is a fact, now established beyond a doubt, that he will eat carrion and putrid flesh, but only from necessity and not from choice.

On one occasion my friends put up a tigress during the rains, when there are few cattle in the derahs or plains near the river.  She had killed a pig, and was eagerly devouring the carcase when she was disturbed.  Snarling and growling, she made off with a leg of pork in her mouth, when a bullet ended her career.  They seem to prefer pork and venison to almost any other kind of food, and no doubt pig and deer are their natural and usual prey.  The influx, however, of vast herds of cattle, and the consequent presence of man, drive away the wild animals, and at all events make them more wary and more difficult to kill.  Finding domestic cattle unsuspicious, and not very formidable foes, the tiger contents himself at a pinch with beef, and judging from his ravages he comes to like it.  Getting bolder by impunity, he ventures in some straits to attack man.  He finds him a very easy prey; he finds the flesh too, perhaps, not unlike his favourite pig.  Henceforth he becomes a ‘man-eater,’ the most dreaded scourge and pestilent plague of the district.  He sometimes finds an old boar a tough customer, and never ventures to attack a buffalo unless it be grazing alone, and away from the rest of the herd.  When buffaloes are attacked, they make common cause against their crafty and powerful foe, and uniting together in a crescent-shaped line, their horns all directed in a living cheval-de-frise against the tiger, they rush tumultuously at him, and fairly hunt him from the jungle.  The pig, having a short thick neck, and being tremendously muscular, is hard to kill; but the poor inoffensive cow, with her long-neck, is generally killed at the first blow, or so disabled that it requires little further effort to complete the work of slaughter.